


all we are is good enough

by BrosleCub12



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, August 2015, Fluff, M/M, Nervous Jack, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Relationship Discussions, Tickling, Understanding Bitty, potential canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 19:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12217866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrosleCub12/pseuds/BrosleCub12
Summary: Jack gets stuck. Bitty helps.(Post-discussion of Jack and Bitty's romantic histories in LVA@PDA).





	all we are is good enough

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely adore the flashback in PDA where Jack asks Bitty to make things official and I know it's more than likely that they probably consummated their relationship that night - it may have been confirmed somewhere in the additional notes, I'm not sure? But I was seized by the idea of this scenario and it wouldn't leave me alone so I had to write it. 
> 
> Note: the posting isn't perfect in this one as I had to use the HTML box, due to some problems with the Rich Text and it messed slightly with the structure - tried to fix it, but the whole thing is being stubborn. So, sorry about that!
> 
> TW - for Jack's anxiety. 
> 
> Unbetaed as usual, so all mistakes are mine. As per, I don't own Check Please; it belongs to Nzogi.

Carrying Bits around could fast become one of his favourite things, Jack muses as he strides through his apartment carrying Bitty – who in turn is carrying the little Lego version of Jack, a lovely kind of cycle – and heading towards his bedroom. He navigates them both gently, not wanting to risk bumping Bitty against the walls, never wanting to risk that. The shape of him over his back, safely stowed and how Jack’s missed him; missed him from the very first moment he had to leave him behind in the Haus after that first, wonderful kiss, taking the sight of Bitty’s flushed face and wide eyes and simple ‘Okay,’ with him. 

But now he’s here and Bits is here and Bits has just agreed; has heartily consented, probably with noise complaints from the neighbours to follow. He’s whispering joyfully right this second over Jack’s shoulder, chirping away as Jack carefully opens his bedroom door.

‘Okay, bud?’ he asks, with a smile as he closes the door behind them – the click of it seems to signal something, something like privacy, a lock between them and the outside world. He clears his throat, heads to the bed and with a bit of careful manoeuvring and bending, cradling Bitty’s head so that he doesn’t fall too quickly, he lowers him onto the duvet – his _boyfriend,_ he thinks with jubilation, climbing onto the bed after him, his beautiful-inside-and-out boyfriend. Who didn’t laugh in Jack’s face when he asked him to be just that; who never judged him on the ice; who reached for him after one of those bad reports on the television and told him with heartfelt sincerity that they were wrong – not that he needed to shape up and be better so that things like this wouldn’t happen in the first place. 

Of course, neither he or Kent are saints; they both did things wrong, they both messed up, they both hurt each other. But Eric Bittle, Jack reflects, is still More, at least to him – a thousand times the man that Kent Parson will ever be.

And now he’s _Jack’s._

He clambers over Bitty playfully, and the other boy giggles, essentially sheltered and tented by Jack’s presence over him and they teasingly grapple for a minute, Jack kissing the whole of Bitty’s face and neck and Bitty squirming – obviously ticklish and Jack can’t resist, takes advantage of that, feeling bold in the way that only Bitty makes him and bolder still by his responding squeal, his hands tapdancing over his friend’s – _boyfriend’s_ – body. They fall over the bed, their laughter a liberating thing and Jack loves it, loves the feeling of losing his head for a moment and just being silly for once, just making Bitty happy. 

Eventually, they come to rest, Bitty panting beneath him, his eyes crinkled at the corners, his cheeks round as apples from smiling so hard as they gaze at each other and it’s in that moment that Jack finds himself suddenly becoming… stuck. Shy, even. _Tentative,_ as he gazes down at Bitty and his warm, open expression, trusting and tender and realises that he’s starting to shake.

‘Hi,’ he smiles, to buy himself time. 

‘Hello,’ Bitty chirrups back before he suddenly twists and onto his side to place the Lego figure on the bedside table with care, nudging it with his finger so it doesn’t fall over the edge. Honestly, watching something so simple does things to Jack’s heart that anxiety could never do. 

‘I’m all yours,’ Bitty declares cheerfully, leaning on his elbows underneath him and how wonderful that sounds. They kiss some more and Jack goes slowly, _one step at a time, one step at a time,_ lowers his mouth to Bitty’s ear. 

‘Are you alright?’ he whispers and feels Bitty’s responding nod. It’s been a big evening for them both – he’s admitted to Bitty the one thing about Kent that he only ever told one other person – his therapist – although he suspects his parents knew all along; _definitely_ his dad. He took the step, took enormous courage and asked to make it official between them, after a night of deliberating whether it was too soon or too formal or too much pressure. But Bitty’s joy had made up for everything; made him feel instantly better and the way he flung his arms around Jack had filled something inside him that nights of random hook-ups with Kent Parson could never fill. 

‘Goodness, honey, I’m fine!’ Eric replies, looking and sounding it despite how adorably dishevelled he looks. ‘My fabulous, handsome best friend has just asked me to _be_ with him and I have a gorgeous Lego figure I can kiss any time I want!’ He sounds so happy, so carefree, that it makes Jack ache and he wishes he could be more relaxed about this, more willing to just… let go. Instead, he’s becoming very aware of the reality of the situation: that they’re alone in his room, with no-one around to bother them and time on their hands. It should be _perfect._

‘Jack?’ Bitty’s voice is a break in the wave; he sounds concerned suddenly and Jack curses himself, curses his stupid anxiety for lingering, for taking the sway away, for tugging the carpet out from under his feet. This should be so natural; _is_ natural for most people, most couples. ‘Are you okay?’

Jack lets out a long, frankly fed-up sigh; presses a long, almost possessive kiss to Eric’s forehead in lieu of an answer, mutters something absent-minded in French; strange, maybe, but when his brain short-circuits and his chest tightens and his body starts to shake, something about the language he was brought up with, the remembrance of the words and vowels, brings something back to him. It’s not just a secret code for himself; it’s remembering that he can still say something, even if he loses his words in English.

‘It’s okay, Bits,’ he tries to sound assuring and then, with one look at Bitty’s face, realises he’s failed dismally at that anyway. Smiling softly, resignedly, he reaches out and pushes his hair, mussed from their rather amorous activities, back from his face, some form of control triggering back through his nervous system. _Relax._ He’s safe here, after all. He’s _always_ been safe with Bitty. 

‘Something wrong, honey?’ Bitty’s voice is light-hearted enough, but there’s a slight tremor underneath; he’s worried, spotting Jack’s sudden, obvious tics – besides the fact that everything has ground to an extremely obvious halt.

‘It’s…’ Jack huffs and flops over onto his back, bouncing the bed as he lies down by Bitty’s side; the other boy has his eyes on his face and Jack knows he needs to explain, needs to wipe the nervous expression from that lovely face, always open and trusting and ready to listen. How well Bitty knows him. ‘It’s just… it’s been a while, Bits.’

This gets him a startled blink. ‘I know, honey.’ Bitty shrugs at him, not looking particularly bothered. ‘We – we don’t have to do anything. I’m…’ He shuffles closer, so that his right side and Jack’s left side are touching, a warm anchor, slips his smaller, capable hands into Jack’s larger, sometimes clumsy ones. ‘Kind of...nervous as you are, actually, sweetpea.’ 

Jack smiles sadly, having trouble believing that somehow. He’s grateful for the assurance, but Bitty radiates a quiet kind of self-confidence – despite his own slight nerves on the ice – that Jack has often scrabbled to grasp, his own pieces shattered and haphazardly fixed back together. He raises their joined hands and kisses Bits’ knuckles, just for the slight laugh it evokes, then turns on his side to throw an arm around him. 

‘With Kent, it was…’ he leans on his free hand, keeping the other on Bitty’s chest. ‘It was just what it was, you know? We… we liked each other – we cared for each other – but that was… It’s not _this.’_

Bitty nods, looking attentive; doesn’t seem to mind the hesitancy, or the return to the subject of Kent Parson when they’re lying in bed together. He just rubs Jack’s thumb softly, a silent _Go on._

‘I don’t want…’ Jack huffs and swears in French. This is so hard – this is _Bitty_ and he’s not some vulnerable kid, no matter how much Jack wants to protect him. He’s strong as the ice they skate on; he never breaks. He’s had his moments, he wears his cracks openly, the same way Jack refuses to and yet somehow manages to do all the same. But they always heal and they’ve never held him back; he’s carried on, unfailing. 

He doesn’t want Bitty to let him in and then… for it all to go wrong somewhere, because of _Jack_ – because he moves too fast, or without enough of the things that Bitty needs. It’s one thing to try and cure someone’s fear of being shoved on the ice but this – this is different. He wants Bitty with everything he is; finds sheer bliss in the fact that he’s found a space for someone real and wonderful as opposed to just the ice and the hockey puck. 

For the first time in ages, it feels as though the world has truly given him something to look forward to; the _fizzle_ when he wakes up in the morning and thinks of Eric, of his Bits, who kissed him back at graduation, rather than shoving him away in protest, _no Jack, no, you’ve misread the situation, why on earth would I want to be with someone like **you?** _  
And Jack really, _really_ doesn’t want to push what they are, what they’ve _become,_ over the edge.__

‘I don’t want to mess this up,’ he mumbles, an admission, throws open that particular door; can’t look Bitty in the eye as he says it. His constant companion, anxiety, quieter now than it used to be and less prone to bark, especially since he and Bitty got together, but. It’s still there, comes out just when he thinks he’s shaken it. It still niggles him, rattling him with the things he could get wrong. 

Bitty’s hand simply squeezes his and the look on his face is one that Jack will remember for a very long time; like a butterfly that’s been released, one that didn’t realise how much it needed open air and blazing sky until it was finally free. He doesn’t even look angry, or exasperated, or impatient. 

Then he leans up and takes Jack’s face between his palms with such care, just as he cradles a pie in his palms or a new Beyonce album that he’s about to play and he’s crooning softly to him, _come here, honey, come on._ He presses his mouth everywhere – lips, cheeks, forehead, eyelids over closed eyes and Jack sighs into it, almost gasping with it, a parched man taking in water. He’s no stranger to intimacy – but Eric Bittle _loves._

‘Just stay with me, honey,’ Bitty murmurs, hand on his cheek, not looking in the least bit upset at the slight detour the evening has taken, his warm brown eyes filling Jack’s vision, ‘stay with me. That’s all I want.’ 

Exhaling softly, Jack wraps both his arms tight around Bitty and pulls him close on the bed so that they’re lying in a cocoon, kissing and kissing the top of his head as Bitty presses his face into his chest.

‘You asked me to trust you,’ Bitty reaches up to kiss his chin, ‘at that very first checking clinic. And I do, Jack. Trust you.’

Jack sighs, props his chin on top of Bitty’s. ‘Wasn’t always _nice_ to you…’ It’s more of a grunt than anything, a grudging admission of his own behaviour, but Bitty howls with laughter and his delight at the sound, even more than his relief at the other boy’s simple understanding, makes Jack smile. 

‘Laughing at me, Bits?’ 

‘No,’ Bitty shakes his head, still grinning. ‘And – well – no, honey, you weren’t. But – I didn’t always understand _you.’_ He stretches around, rubs Jack’s back and that’s the kind of thing that Jack’s been missing, he realises yet again, something separate from the shoulder-claps and horsing around with the boys back at the Haus. Little gestures like that, in a proper relationship; someone’s casual, ever-kind way of saying _I love you and you are loved._

Well. Not that they’ve used the L-word yet, but Jack can feel it sometimes, on the tip of his tongue, in the room at the centre of his heart, separate from the threatening tightness and the vice-like clamp that stutters him through the bad days. And he has used the B-word; thrown out all his labels and worries about his sexuality and just admitted what he knows to be true: that Eric Bittle _has_ him, 110%.

‘We don’t have to rush, sweetpea.’ Bitty smiles at him, rubs his arm, his shoulder as they snuggle together in their warm huddle. ‘Just lie here with me. That’s all.’ He cups Jack’s cheek, his hand delicate against Jack’s face. ‘You won’t mess this up, Jack.’ 

At those words – spoken so certainly, eyes unshaken, with a degree of firmness that comes from helping Lardo deal with a bunch of hockey-playing Haus idiots – Jack grimaces a little, grateful but wary. 

‘I’m the one who brought us in here,’ he sighs, raises a hand to his bedroom, feeling rather stupid. It often seems as though he’s walking a tightrope, or about to walk on a thin bridge over heavy lava, when someone says what Bitty just said to him, no matter how genuine they sound, how much they believe their own words. After all, Jack Zimmerman has a (highly-publicised) habit of messing everything up. 

Bitty stretches himself like he’s a piece of tightening rope. ‘Yeah, but I like your room. It’s cosy. And… _actually,_ honey…’ He bites his lip like he’s trying to bite back a sudden confession, looking so embarrassed and yet just that little bit mischievous and Jack is intrigued. ‘I kind of…liked that - being carried, I mean. It was kind of… It was… well. Pleasant,’ he flushes, even as he says it, turns his gaze from Jack’s raised eyebrow to press his face back into his chest, hiding. ‘I just liked feeling like I – didn’t weigh anything.’ He bites his lip, bites a little of Jack’s shirt between his teeth, clearly abashed. It’s utterly delightful. 

Thinking about it: he’s got a _lot_ of stuff wrong with Bitty. He was rude and self-obsessed the first year, put down Bitty’s winning score as a lucky shot because he was jealous and so insecure, yelled at him more than was strictly necessary, brushed off his many attempts to comfort and help when his friend tried to. 

And yet: here they are, lying in his apartment, just a couple of years later because Bitty not only agreed, but positively screamed in delight when Jack handed over his Lego figure and asked the question. Not quite ready to take the next step, as it turns out, to make love, but. Perhaps not _too_ far away, either. 

Plus: even when Jack _does_ prove how much he messes things up, he’s _also_ proved how good he is at fighting his way back.

‘Guess I’ll just have to pick you up more often, then,’ he murmurs into Bitty’s hair, a promise and a playful threat, all at once and he’s sure he can feel Bitty shiver.

‘Wh-what makes you think I’m _that_ kind of boy, Jack Laurent Zimmerman?’

Jack doesn’t answer to that beautifully breathless query; simply shows a glint of his teeth and lets one of his hands gently shimmer over Bitty’s hip. The younger boy immediately squirms, ‘No, no, don’t you dare, you know I’m ticklish, _Jack…’_ and the sweet, pleading lilt of his voice is enough; Jack launches himself back over him and the play is back on as they laugh and wrestle and kiss on the bed.

And somewhere along the way, among battered bedsheets and almost-falls off the bed, Bitty reaches for him, pulls him down, whispers in his ears the words, ‘I feel so safe with you around me,’ and Jack can only bury his face in his neck and savour every syllable of it and for now, that’s _enough._  



End file.
